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When Alatus is found on the battlefield, his wings are broken.
Everything is shredded: his wings lack feathers, his thoughts lack clarity. Morax is missing his best warriors. Half the rocks in the Chengyu valley are split. Animals are fleeing away, rivers are flowing in the opposite direction. Guizhong's anger raises oceans of dust over the lands of LiYue. Morax has never seen her so angry, but then again — Morax has never seen anything like it.
Ganyu covers their backs from Mountain Xuanlian. Her arrow would've pierced through the Adeptus right in front of them if not for Morax covering him with the shield.
The one in front of them doesn't even flinch. Torn robes, torn wounds. Torn wings — and so much blood, god. But does all of it belong to him?
Then Morax steps closer. Too close for Guizhong's comfort, except his actions are out of her hands; too close for Alatus's comfort, except — so far — no one cares.
He rises on elbows as someone drops to one knee in front of him. Raises his gaze. Eyes before him are as clear as the sky in the Guili Valley; as clear as the sky in the Chengyu valley has never been. The stranger — a deity, danger; slow movements, quick decisions — holds out his hand, gold from the gold of his eyes, and speaks.
"My name is Zhongli. Now you've got a place to return to."
Guizhong smiles, Xianyun only looks away. Hundreds of meters away from them, Ganyu bows her head, high in the clouds, Moon Carver and Mountain Shaper turn at the same time, feeling the north wind of change.
That's how fates become intertwined in Teiwat. This is how Xiao's name changes the course of history for the first time.
&
When Zhongli was younger, he used to shoot birds and seek justice where no justice could be found.
Hundreds of years later, he had gained enough power to bring judgment on his own — and forbade the hunting of sacred beasts.
Ganyu, surviving a lifetime as prey, the last of the sacred race, expressed gratitude to him for this by pledging to serve until the end.
Sometimes, Morax has doubts. It would do him no good to regret his decision — except sacred hunting must have a reason.
He looks at Indarius, resting her head on Xiao's shoulder, who's frozen in an uncomfortable pose. At Bonanus braiding qingxin flowers into her hair. He hopes he's wrong. At nights, the cold wind sweeps through their camp and intensifies. And always, always arrives from the north.
&
Xianyun is waiting for him at the corner of the military camp after a particularly exhausting battle. They hold defense along the Yaodie Valley, days replace nights, Yakshas replace each other. Deities leave their people behind, defenseless in lands where dreams become nightmares, and seek refuge downstream, at the mouth of the Bishui River. Bosacious claps Xiao on the shoulder and ushers him off to rest. Xiao is unfamiliar with rest, but familiar with dismissal.
Xian Yun stops him in the shadows of the camp, where no one can see it. Calls out quietly but firmly. Tension in her voice makes him pause. Xiao turns around, tilts his head toward right shoulder with familiar gesture.
"I don't trust you."
He blinks. Ah, that. Well, Cloud Retainer had no need to voice something every Millelith in the camp whispers about. And still.
"I know," his voice breaks from long silence like the first snow in the fall. "You don't need to. I'm not looking for trust."
Xianyun's eyes narrow, and Xiao thinks she has never looked more alike a powerful and dangerous adeptus than at this moment.
"I hope you won't find what you're looking for here. I hope you leave us alone."
Xiao closes his eyes as a sign he's heard and vanishes as soundless as he appeared. He has no words for what she wants to hear so badly.
It's not for him to tell her that it's too late. That there's no room for hope in a land without peace. After all, he didn't seek them out on purpose — they found him first.
&
Bonanus brings him lilies when there lapses in the endless series of battles.
Indarias builds campfires. Guizhong gathers everyone for a tea of wild herbs and heavy mists. Morax — gratuitously, selflessly, inconceivably — leaves him no choice but to accept the gift of a jade spear. Xiao has never met such kindness - nor will he meet it ever again.
All the same, he doesn't know what to do with it.
&
His Mistress's servants drag him from the bed without warning, silently and suddenly. The tragedy never ends, flowing from dream to nightmare, but nothing affects him, nothing can hurt him. Or break him.
Alatus thinks so every time — and each one, like the very first, his Mistress smiles, and he sees it all. Always loses.
Somewhere in the south there is a God, says the Mistress, who has forgotten his place. In Teyvat, those who overstep boundaries don't live very long. He needs a reminder of that.
All that comes after is a haze in Alatus's mind, a blood-red like blood on the gold of his wings when the Mistress's servants break them and throw him out in the snow outside the palace. For so many days he wanders in the fog at the foot of Laixin Mountain — it takes him twice as long to reach the Guili Valley. He fights someone, talks to someone. Always winning, always wounded.
He barely has the strength to maintain the last spark of life when his gaze stumbles upon someone's silhouette. The stranger has surprisingly strong and warm hand, lifting Alatus off the ground.
Alatus doesn't realize it yet, but his Mistress' commands always come through. Deep down in her palace on Mountaint Laixin, the Goddess of Dreams is laughing, unreachable and therefore undefeated.
&
"No one will ever touch you again."
Zhongli's voice breaks. Dread explodes in Xiao's mind sharp and abrupt — Zhongli's voice never breaks. Anyone's does, except.
The Guili Valley is light and quiet, silence blanketing Liyue with a shroud for thousands miles around. Here one day Guizhong smiled at Xiao for the first time. Here one day Guizhong formed an alliance with Zhongli.
Here one day Guizhong died.
Xiao's eyes are burning.
Snow, scarlet with blood, brings him back to the day they first met.
He wonders if Zhongli regrets sheltering his own death under his heart.
Xiao would've asked, but that fool would never tell him outright - he'd probably laugh back. Zhongli, as though reading his thoughts, gives a short, hoarse laugh. Blood rumbles in his throat, dripping from the corner of his lips. Is Xiao aware of how his eyes shine when he smiles? The thoughts take Zhongli by surprise, but he is unable to subdue them. Unable to voice them. That's how he realizes: this is the end.
It's not the end, of course.
The end started thousands of years ago, when the gold of his eyes clashed with the gold of another's wings, and he caught Guizhong's soft sigh behind his shoulder, and she realized it instantly. She understood him in a way no one else ever could. After her death, loneliness bit him on every breath, glaze lilies clinging to the hem of his robes.
Here and now, with Xiao looking at him so intently, he is no longer alone.
They stand close to each other, hands tied by someone else's will, kneeling in front of each other. A wheeze escapes from Zhongli's chest. Sobs escape from Xiao's chest — he won't let them, of course. His hand doesn't tremble at all. The Jade Kite in his hand, in Zhongli's chest — doesn't waver either, and doesn't hurt anyone else. Xiao wants to apologize more than to live. Zhongli wraps arms around his shoulders and with a jagged gust, gently pushes their foreheads together.
Everything comes out jagged in these moments — the wound isn’t healing.
The stench of metal envelops Xiao like an inescapable sentence. He's so sorry.
Zhongli's breath slides down his cheek as he opens a mouth.
"Goddess of dreams," Zhongli's strength leaves him with each word. Xiao grits his teeth — clenches Zhongli in a hug. Holds the Jade Kite in one hand, tries to clamp the wound with the other. There's never any fog in Guili Valley, but his vision is still tugged by it. He blinks several times to see Zhongli better. To realize what he has done. "The Goddess of Dreams will no longer touch dreams that don't belong to her. No one will touch you anymore — you don't belong to anyone."
The realization hits Xiao so suddenly he recoils. Zhongli lets out a muffled groan. The noise in Xiao's ears, the raging currents of Bishui in the spring, overpowers his own thoughts. Regret floods him all at once.
Somewhere in Jueyun Karst, everyone who once loved Zhongli is about to receive word that Liyue has lost not one God today, but two.
Somewhere in Jueyun Karst, everyone who once fought side by side with Xiao is about to receive a choice: fight against him or chase after him.
The Goddess of Dreams doesn't laugh anymore.
Guizhong does not smile.
Zhongli — gold of heart, gold of love — smiles for both of them as he dies. Xiao, forehead to forehead, breaths in tune, clings to him as close as possible without hurting him. Brushes his lips over Zhongli's cheek, feels the smile buried in his neck.
They kneel in front of each other as the snow begins to fall, as the snowflakes melt on Xiao's cheeks and he brushes water away, as the sun sinks below the horizon and Liyue lights up in the sunset light.
And love can be as powerful as death all it wants — but won't save from it.